


Better This Way

by you_guys_are_losers (courting_insanity)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, PeterMJ - Freeform, Spideychelle, engaged spideychelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23369584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/courting_insanity/pseuds/you_guys_are_losers
Summary: Moving on is hard, but it's a little easier with Michelle Jones by your side.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 75





	Better This Way

Peter has been anticipating something like this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean that he’s prepared when it happens. 

Pepper gives him plenty of time to prepare, of course. In fact, she gives him almost an entire year of warning, letting him know of the plans for the event at Christmas. Peter even manages to convince himself that he’s alright with it. The months fly by in a blur of managing his own business, stealing MJ away from her own work to walk the streets of New York with street food in their work clothes, and darting to the new headquarters to address each new challenge that comes with being an Avenger. Peter appreciates the busy nature of things, just as much as he appreciates returning to his fiancee after each challenge and holding her close, more grateful each time for the snarky comment she greets him with and the way she let him hold her until they are both asleep. It helps him forget, helps him to keep telling himself that nothing will change when it’s time.

Every thought of preparedness deserts Peter completely when he begins to see the announcements on social media: “First Annual Stark Charity Gala.” 

Tony’s name is everywhere again; not that it ever stopped circulating, of course. But it had quieted to a steady buzz up until the announcement. Now, the tributes explode across Peter’s feed. There is art, poetry, thousands of stories of all the ways that Tony left his mark on the world. Peter only manages to resist the urge to read every single one when MJ persuades him to delete his news app, reminding him that it’s only the manufactured reality that the government wants him to subscribe to. 

Peter appreciates the intervention; it does help, and for a while it pushes the date farther and farther into the future. 

But the articles grow even bigger than the internet after a while, and Tony Stark is not the only name on everyone’s lips. It’s the first real, major appearance that Peter will have made as himself, at least since the address to the public following Mysterio’s reveal of Peter’s identity. But that was different– it came in the wake of an acquittal, and with a promise to the public. That was “Avenger stuff,” as May likes to call it; it was an acceptance of the mantle that had been passed onto him with the allowance that he was not Tony Stark, and that he would make it his own.

This isn’t “Avenger stuff.” This is Peter Parker stuff. People aren’t asking about Spider-Man, they’re watching him.

And even though it’s better, the loss of Tony still weighs down on people, almost as heavy as the responsibility of carrying on for him. 

The reporters call the apartment he shares with MJ, leave May voicemails, and linger on the doorstep of the building where he lives. MJ has gotten pretty good at dealing with them; ever since she learned that the press can’t use anything with swearing in it, she’s actually been enjoying herself. On other days, she wears t-shirts with the names of various non-profits scrawled on the back in hand-lettering. It lifts Peter’s spirits, and he even begins to join her (in the charity endorsement, not the profanity) when he’s on his way to his tech startup or when they’re going out together. 

Still, even that isn’t enough. Peter can tell MJ notices, and he manages to explain enough of what he’s feeling that he knows she understands. Just telling MJ makes it more bearable, because she does what she always does when he needs support: she doesn’t try to fix the problem, but she does make sure he knows that she’s there. 

In the days leading up to the gala, Peter begins to notice the little ways she is taking care of him. When he gets back from work, it is to an empty apartment; something came up with her current project at work, so she was called in with the entire team of animators she supervises to address it. However, though there is no MJ, he does find a cannoli from their favorite bakery waiting for him in the fridge with a purple sticky note on the cardboard box. Her scrawl, spindly and neat and angular, causes him to grin for the first time that day. 

**_Couldn’t think of a pun. First one to come up with one wins._ **

He tucks the note in his bag for the rest of the work week. 

The Thursday night after that, their favorite books have _somehow_ found their way to the coffee table in front of the sofa. They spend the night curled up under one of May’s attempts at quilting, each with their own novel and a cup of tea that MJ refills when needed. She somehow always manages to make the perfect cup of tea. The chamomile in his mug and the scent of her lavender shampoo are exactly what he needs. 

Over the rest of the week, they don’t breach the subject again. There’s no need to. What Peter does need is a liberal amount of snuggles, sarcastic banter, and the feeling of her curly hair brushing his cheek as he rests his head on her shoulder. MJ is more than willing to provide all of these, and she does it like is the most obvious thing in the world. 

That’s what makes the day of the gala so much harder. 

It feels like he is sleepwalking from the moment he wakes up. Peter rises long before MJ, though he does take a moment to appreciate the soft breathing of the firl he loves beside him. Her curly hair tickles his cheek from across his pillow as she shifts her head slightly, and Peter can’t resist the urge to lightly stroke her cheek in a gentle caress before he rises. She’s been so intentional about loving him, so willing to show the same quiet, steady flexibility that she always has. 

That only makes Peter feel more guilty. For all she’s done, it still feels like he’s drowning. 

It’s a Saturday, and Peter has already informed everyone at the office that he won’t be be coming in today. So, instead of heading to work or lingering around the apartment, Peter heads to the compound. The lab is there for him, the way it always is. 

It’s his, something that Pepper consistently reminded him of once it was rebuilt where one of Tony’s favorite places had been in the old compound. It has a lot of Stark tech, certainly, but in the time since Peter has left his mark on the place. It’s where he’s done a lot of innovating for his own startup, a lot of the brainstorming and experimenting that has led to great advancements. But that’s not what Peter thinks about today as he looks around the work space, where the various machines on standby glow dimly and gleam on metallic counter-tops. 

He’s thinking of every wrong attempt, each scrapped failure that his successes have been built on. This is the place where it is okay not to be okay, because if he isn’t now, he will be. He needs that. 

Peter isn’t sure how long he spends in the lab, fiddling with the various machines and working on the designs of a few abandoned prototypes that Pepper had sent over to him. They were some of Tony’s “works in progress,” all those years ago. The things he had started and dropped for various reasons, always with the understanding that the work he began could be finished by someone else. 

Peter appreciates the work, but more than anything, he appreciates the proximity it creates to Tony. It’s been so many years, and so much has happened… Peter has gone to college, graduated, proposed to MJ, become everything that Tony told him he could be. But that ache is still there, arcing through his chest with every new milestone that Stark isn’t there for. And at times of stress like these, Peter misses the feeling of knowing that there was someone waiting to catch him when he fell. 

He isn’t sure how long he stays at the lab, but the sun rises and is beginning to descend from its climb when Peter is informed by F.R.I.D.A.Y. that someone is entering the compound. Peter figures it’s probably one of the other Avengers; Sam is staying for the weekend in order to attend the gala, and Bucky has taken to staying in the area every so often in order to be available for Avengers business. T’Challa is in town for the gala as well; perhaps he has returned to fetch something from the compound or to access one of the Avengers databases. 

Whatever it may be, Peter figures that if he is needed, F.R.I.D.A.Y. will let him know. Peter continues to work, adjusting the hologram he is attempting to replicate and raking a hand through his mess of curls that have not been brushed yet. A bit of grease has smeared on his other hand, but he does not pay it the least bit of mind as he lightly brushes sweat from his brow, leaving a black streak in the wake of his fingertips. 

“Placement’s wrong.” 

Her voice, quiet and simple and truthful, drifts across the lab and over Peter’s shoulder. He pauses for a moment, letting out a breath and letting the flat cutter he’s holding drift to the counter as he closes his eyes, not turning. 

“I can’t figure it out.” The admission is tired and accepting from his lips, and he hears the clicking of heels across the lab floor as she draws closer to him. 

“You’re preoccupied.” Peter closes his eyes, simply drinking in the feeling of her shoulder lightly knocking his as he listens to her pick up the flat cutter. The quiet, familiar whirring of electronics, and then he can tell she has corrected his error for him efficiently. 

“Yeah,” he admits, exhaling as he finally turns to face her. “I just-” 

All thoughts vacate his mind when he looks at her. 

She’s dressed, ready for the gala; it must be later than he thought. Deep, dark eyes find his, lashes long and dark as she searches his face with them. Her brown eyes are piercing in the light of the lab, illuminated by the glowing hologram before them as she looks in every line of his countenance, gauging his emotional state. 

Her hair has been straightened and curled, and it drifts to the shoulders of the dress she wears. It reminds Peter of the flappers that she loves so much, glimmering in the artificial light of the lab as it swishes to her knees in shining fringes. Everyone else tonight will be wearing glamorous, floor-length clothing, black tie and red lipstick. The sharp wing of her eyeliner, the wisps of hair that frame her face like a halo, the cut of her clothing… All of it will be striking, out of place, offbeat in the glamorous room. 

She’s going to be by his side, and she won’t be pretending in front of the cameras and the reporters. And because MJ is by his side, he won’t have to be either. 

MJ’s lips part slightly, and for a moment Peter thinks that she is going to take a step closer. Then she blinks, shaking her head slightly, and glances him up and down. “I think you should go like this,” she murmurs, a gentle, hesitant smile edging onto her parted lips. “I like it better than a suit, and it’ll give the tabloids something to talk about.” 

Peter winces as she mentions the tabloid, but an ironic grin rises to his lips anyway as he leans back against the counter-top, studying her. He can tell that she is caught off-guard by the gleam of wonder in his eyes as he looks at her, the woman who is so unapologetically herself in contexts that might terrify other people. 

“I thought you hated the tabloids.” 

MJ tips her head slightly to the side, contemplating her answer as she gazes into his eyes. “They’re awful writing, and they profit off of violating people’s privacy,” she decides, brown eyes filled with a pensive sort of intelligence that sparks adoration in Peter’s chest where before there was only dread. “But so does the government. At least the tabloids don’t try to hide it.” 

There is a moment of silence as each takes in the other. Peter can feel MJ’s eyes traveling his countenance, and his cheeks flush. His hair has gone unbrushed all day and is a mess of lumpy curls. His t-shirt is stained with grease, as are his hands, and his clothing is creased and rumpled. She looks like an angel, and he is a mess… And yet, somehow, she looks at him with the same admiration that he does her. 

She steps closer, and Peter is reminded unavoidably of her words when she showed him the broken necklace he had given her all those years ago. She’s never been one for whole and complete. She likes what’s broken, what’s twisted. 

She’s not scared of a little darkness. 

“I should be over him by now.” 

Peter swallows as the words leave his lips, and his eyes flicker to the ground. There is quiet for a moment, and then he hears the sound of her slipping her shoes off. Bare feet brush the lab floor as she approaches, slow and sure. Peter doesn’t look up, but he feels her arms loop around his waist, gentle and comforting. There is a lump in his throat. 

“That’s not how that works.” Her words are whispered against his forehead, and Peter slowly tips his head up to face hers. His eyes sting as they land upon her black-lined ones. 

“It’s been years.” 

“Time is relative. You can’t assign it to something like losing someone.” 

“I just… They’re gonna ask me things tonight, about everything.”

“You’re used to questions.” Her thumb gently strokes his lower back as she pauses a moment, then nestles closer after a moment of thought. This is one of the things he loves about her more than anything; even after years of dating and a promise to marry her, she’s cautious. Careful. She makes sure that he’s comfortable with everything she is doing, makes sure that if he wants to pull away, he can. 

“You answer them all the time. You’re good at dealing with reporters with the Avengers, and you have no problem navigating the press at work.” Peter exhales softly, moving to rest his head against hers. However, she pulls back slightly, leaving a few centimeters between their faces so she can look in his eyes. 

For all her care when it comes to intimacy, Michelle Jones does not shy back from the ugly truths. 

“You need to say it, Peter.” 

Dark eyes linger on his, and a few strands of perfectly curled hair have escaped their neighbors, glowing in the soft light emanating blue from the hologram. She does not look away, does not shrink back from the unspoken words that linger between them. She is still waiting for him to say them. 

“I can’t... I’m not ready to answer questions about him.” 

MJ blinks, and one of her hands gently rises to cradle his face. Still, she says nothing, and Peter knows she is leaving him room to continue. 

“They’re all going to be looking for quotes, for little tidbits about... About Mr. Stark that no one knows. And they’re going to be looking for them from his replacement. But I don’t want to give away any more pieces of him.” 

Peter lets out a sharp exhale, looking away. “I’m selfish.” 

Her thumb thoughtfully travels along his cheekbone, and she sighs. “You’re a lot of things, Peter,” she murmurs. “For one, you’re sweaty, and you look like hell.” 

He lets out an amused huff, lips relaxing into a slight pout as he looks up into her tentatively playful eyes. “Don’t worry, I like you better this way. Suits are boring.” 

Peter closes his eyes and leans into her touch, letting it spread warmth through him when all he feels is cold. She indulges him for a moment before letting her hand drift to where it can rest at the nape of his neck. 

When he opens his eyes hers are ready. They have been waiting for his, and they pierce into him, dissecting his sorrow like scalpels through scar tissue. 

“You aren’t selfish. And you never have been.” 

The breath that leaves him relieves the ache in his chest, but it also catches in his throat. Her fingers press slightly harder at the back of his neck, letting him know that she is still there. 

“There are things that aren’t meant to be given away, not to the wrong people. There are answers that are only for you, and maybe for Morgan when she’s old enough to ask the right questions. But they don’t have a right to them, and it’s okay.” 

Peter tries to ignore the stinging in his eyes, and he offers her a slightly shaky smile. She returns it with her own lopsided grin, lips soft with the beeswax lip balm that she likes so much. “I don’t... You are so much more to me than I ever thought anyone could be.” 

Michelle freezes, and for a moment Peter feels that same, terrifying rush of panicked nerves that he felt all those years ago when he told her that he liked her. Somehow, she is capable of inducing it in him even now, and he finds himself resisting the urge to apologize. 

She lets out a shaky breath, and then the corner of her mouth tips up as she tilts her head slightly. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Peter laughs quietly at the words, and then she is laughing too, inching closer. The soft laughter drifts off, and Peter’s gaze lingers on hers. MJ purses her lips as his eyes rest on hers, and then they part slightly as her eyes wander his face, every line and crease and smudge. 

They flicker to his lips, then, and Peter feels his breathing halt as his do the same. 

“I want to... But you’re all ready.” 

“Right.” 

“I shouldn’t.” 

“No... Yeah. Definitely. Terrible idea.” 

His eyes flicker to hers, which are filling with amusement. Then those full lips are twisting into a smirk, and before Peter knows it she is guiding his mouth to hers with firm fingers. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

When they show up to the gala roughly an hour later, they’re barely on time. It’s as Peter predicted: the cameras are flashing, illuminating Peter’s slightly rumpled tux and the hair that will not quite smooth over, though someone has clearly tried. The voices overlap, shouting their names. Peter doesn’t look to them. 

Instead, his fingers lace with MJ’s and his eyes linger on the little trace of grease that his fingers brushed along her cheekbone, the one she decided not to wipe away. 

_I actually like it better this way._

The mischievous gleam in her eyes as she had said it in the lab remains as Peter looks at her, dropping behind slightly just to take her in. She is standing a step ahead of him, at the doors, waiting for him with a raised eyebrow. Her curls are a bit messier than they were before, something the tabloids will almost certainly pick up on, as well as the fact that his jacket has a few wrinkles. 

Peter doesn’t care. 

As he joins her, Peter can’t keep the grin off of his face. She glances over at him conspiratorially as they enter the venue, shoulder bumping his. “What?” 

“I was just thinking...” 

“About using this opportunity to scope out the level of corruption in all of these local politicians? Yeah, me too.” 

Peter grins, hand squeezing hers slightly. 

“...He’d be proud.” 

“He was always proud of you, Peter.” 

Now it’s Peter’s turn to smirk. “I was more referring to the whole, ‘making out in the limo on the way here’ part.” 

The punch to his bicep doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it should, especially not when paired with MJ’s disbelieving grin.


End file.
